Built For Almost

The field was nearly empty when Neil stepped onto the track. Pale sunlight clung low to the bleachers, the kind of late morning glow that made everything look gentler than it felt.

Coach Langley was already waiting, arms crossed, whistle around his neck, clipboard under one arm. No theatrics. No team. Just them.

Neil adjusted his hoodie sleeve, fingers brushing the hidden gauze taped near his elbow.

"You didn't run." Langley said without looking up. "Good."

Neil tilted his head. "I thought this was running."

Langley finally glanced at him, a faint smirk playing at the edge of his mouth. "There's running. And then there's learning how to run again. You're here for the second."

Neil's throat tightened. But he nodded.

The session was quiet. No shouting. No clock. Just drills, breath, stretch, start-and-stop. Langley corrected his posture with a light touch to the shoulder. Watched his knee movement. Offered no praise, but no criticism either.

"You're pushing unevenly," Langley said, walking alongside as Neil reset for another go. "Overcompensating."

"I know."

"Do you?"

Neil stopped. The silence between them hung for a beat too long.

"I think so," he said. "I don't know. Maybe."

Langley studied him, face unreadable. "You're not fighting your body, Neil. You're fighting yourself."

Neil looked away, jaw clenched.

Langley sighed. "You think if you slow down, everything'll fall apart. That you'll become someone you don't recognize."

Neil's throat burned.

"You already are someone else," Langley added. "Doesn't mean you're lost. Just means you're still changing."

Neil didn't answer.

But he didn't run again, either. Not that day. Not yet.

...

That Night - Room 213 - Zay's dorm

The silence in the dorm felt different that night. Not heavy. Not empty. Just... still.

Zay was there, sprawled sideways on his bed with a textbook half-open on his chest and his phone buzzing occasionally with group chat notifications. Neil sat at the desk, fiddling with a protein bar wrapper he had no intention of eating.

"You good?" Zay asked softly, not looking up.

Neil didn't respond right away. Then, quietly- "Coach said I was different."

Zay hummed quietly, "You are."

Neil's hands stilled.

"That a bad thing?" he asked.

Zay finally looked at him. "Not unless you hate who you're becoming."

Neil blinked. "I don't know who that is."

"That's the point," Zay said. "You're building him."

The room went quiet again. Outside, a car honked somewhere in the distance. A door slammed two floors down. The world kept spinning.

Neil stood up eventually, crossing to the bed, wordless. He nudged Zay's foot with his own.

Zay didn't move.

"I'm not good at talking," Neil admitted.

"You're doing fine."

"I feel like I'm standing in a crowd and everyone's waiting for me to say something that matters. But all I have is noise."

Zay shifted, propping himself up on an elbow. "Then don't say it yet. Let them wait."

Neil sat on the edge of the bed, not quite touching, not quite distant.

"I'm tired," he said.

Zay nodded. "I know."

A pause.

"You can crash here again," Zay offered. "If you want."

Neil hesitated.

Then, slowly-he slid down until his back hit the mattress, staring up at the ceiling.

A few inches between them.

Zay turned his head to look at him.

Neil stared up at the tiny crack in the plaster above.

Then-barely audible- "I'm scared that if I let myself breathe, everything I've been holding will fall apart."

Zay didn't answer with words. Just reached out, fingers brushing lightly through Neil's hair, slow and steady, like grounding him to the moment. Neil tensed-then relaxed.

He didn't cry. Didn't break.

But for the first time, he didn't flinch away from being held-however quietly.